


Porn, Actually

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: christmas comedy, csss exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting people is hard, but maybe not when it's Christmas and you're acting as a stand-in for your porn star friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porn, Actually

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas to tumblr user her-madjesty (sorry, babe--idk if you have an ao3 or not!)

"All I want for Christmas is you." So yeah, okay. She knew it was cheesy, but what the hell. The whole situation was very odd to begin with, so Emma figured acting un-Emma-like and going with her gut for once wasn't a totally terrible idea. Rather than, you know. Running from what her whole body was screaming at her.

Which, in this case, was: fucking  _go_ for it, Swan.  _Look_ at the guy.

He grinned in response, that cocky lift of the corner of his mouth that she had been staring at for days now twitching at his lips. Usually when she was staring at a scruffy, handsome guy who looked like he got himself into an awful lot of trouble it was because he was a guy who got himself into an awful lot of trouble, but after getting a pretty decent injury after chasing a guy all the way to Duluth and getting a nasty bruise for her troubles, Emma had decided it was time to take one of those breaks people are always going on about. She told her boss she wasn't coming back until next year, and she planned out weeks of stuff she always meant to do, like organizing her books by genre or maybe color, or setting up the display case for her knives collection. Maybe going through her pantry and throwing out expired stuff.

Yeah, that got old after two days. She started going stir crazy, calling up friends who were astonished that she was initiating contact. She could practically hear Ruby's eyes bugging out of her head when she told her she had taken time off.

So when Mary Margaret invited Emma down to the set for a day, she jumped at the chance. Yeah, okay; normally, the idea of visiting some random house or remote beach location to watch people fucking wasn't something she would be into, but hell. She was bored. Plus, she had to admit—her oldest friend being a porn star was intriguing, in that “I'll see it when I believe it” kind of way. Mary Margaret always sent her copies of her DVDs and it's not like Emma was a prude or anything, but she also wasn't a porn kind of girl.

Then through some odd and probably comical set of circumstances, Emma had found herself being Mary Margaret's stand-in so the crew could do stuff like set marks and camera angles.

At first, when Mary Margaret suggested they use Emma, she had scoffed (because she was like, eight inches taller) and hemmed and hawed, but then she started asking herself, “Why the hell not?” It's not like she was judgey about it or anything, and once she started chiding her own self for being a prude, she just sighed and said, “sure. Yeah, okay.” The fifty bucks a day wasn't terrible, either. Catching bail jumpers wasn't bad on the money front, but a few hundred extra bucks around the holidays was never a bad thing.

These were the things she told herself when she saw who  _David's_ stand-in was. Three seconds after meeting him, all she could think was:

_Oh, great. He's hot._

Over and over she chanted that to herself until he stuck his hand out and introduced himself, looking charmingly flustered when she didn't answer right away.

He wasn't even hot in that “oh,  _hey_ there, stranger” kind of way. No, this guy Killian was the kind of hot where you get angry about it, where the longer you stare, the more you realize you're staring and you get embarrassed but then it's like he starts smiling and you  _know_ he knows what's going through your mind, so he makes the situation worse by grinning and giving you the once over.

But then they were shaking hands and as it turned out, he wasn't too bad.

In fact, they got along  _really_ well. Like, within five minutes of them meeting and reenacting what would be the third sex scene (him kneeling on the floor, her leaning against a door with one foot on his shoulder), they were deep into a conversation about why  _Die Hard_ is the best Christmas movie ever.

Twenty minutes after that (sex scene number one: doggy style, him standing at the edge of the bed with one foot propped next to her on the mattress), and he was asking very engaging, intelligent questions about her line of work. And he was like,  _interested_ in what she had to say. While grabbing her fully-clothed hips and thrusting onto her ass.

By the end of the day, she knew a lot about him. He was from a small village about forty-five minutes outside of London, and he came over in his late teens with his brother who was in the Navy. Played bass and back-up guitar in a house band at his buddy's bar. Never married. Hated cabbage. Made bookshelves with his bare hands yet still had stacks of books all over his place. But best of all: he was a deep sea fisherman for exactly three months out of the year, making enough money to last him all year long. So he spent most of his time picking up odd jobs here and there and working on his boat.

That was how he found himself being a porn stand-in for his old buddy (“mate”), David James. How the stars of the film both needed stand-ins at the same time was beyond Emma, although she suspected her so-called friend and her co-star set it up, because Mary Margaret was forever trying to get Emma to be more sociable. Who said you can't meet decent people through porn?

Anyway, after a couple of days posing (one time she had to take her top off, and she knew she probably should have felt mortified by being topless with this guy she'd only just met, but she oddly, oddly wasn't) and being twisted in some truly fucked-up ways (Emma liked anal as much as the next girl, but gees, there's no  _way_ anyone enjoyed being balanced on her shoulders while some guy drilled into her ass like that, and she had to remember to ask Mary Margaret how the fuck she did it without falling over), Emma found herself wanting to like, call Killian. It wasn't her normal response to seeing a man more than once; usually, she was more than happy to let the guy be on his way, but this one was different.

Trouble was, it was their last day as stand-ins. In fact, Archie the PA had already handed them checks, blushing furiously when Emma shook his hand.

“You'd think a man who works in the porn industry would be far less likely to flush at the touch of a beautiful woman,” Killian said, chuckling. It made her feel so damned pleased that he'd called her beautiful, even if it was just a throwaway remark. Then he'd offered her his arm and when she accepted it, he led her over to the well-lit sofa where she had to crawl up over him to stage a 69.

The actual filming was set to begin the next day, and Emma found herself wondering what she would do now that she was no longer needed on set. She didn't think she could hang around and watch her friend get all naked and...stuff. Mary Margaret wasn't shy about her body, never had been, and she was proud about owning her sexuality. Emma was proud of it, too; didn't mean she wanted to  _watch_ it all up close and in action.

“You coming to watch tomorrow? Er, perhaps that was a poor choice of words,” Killian said wryly, coming up to her at the snacks table. He grabbed a water bottle and unscrewed the cap before taking a swig. “I don't know that I want to see my friend in his glory, but...” He took another drink and no, Emma was not watching the way he tilted his head back, was not totally mesmerized by his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down as he drank deeply.

“Yeah, no. I don't think I can stick around for that,” she said, shaking her head a little to make sure she was meeting his eyes once he lowered his head.

“Hmm,” was all he said before turning and wandering away. She felt a little empty at the exchange, wondering if the past few days' worth of good conversation had turned him off or something, that maybe he was just being nice the entire time. Humoring the girl he had to be in such close, intimate quarters with until the whole ordeal was over.

Utterly miserable now, she wandered off to get her purse and find her friend to say good night. She had to catch a cab before it started snowing again, and then she had to go bury her head in a bottle of wine back in her apartment in Alonesville.

Emma was all wrapped up in a scarf and cursing her awkwardness when she heard a voice call out behind her.

“Swan! Hey, Emma!”

She was suddenly thankful for Mary Margaret's huge, handmade gifts because the scarf bundled up against her chin hid the big, goofy grin that overtook her face at the sound of his voice. She wondered if he'd been calling out for a while because he sounded all raspy and also slightly breathless as he jogged up to her side. It made him even hotter than he already was.

“You're leaving without saying goodbye?”

She was so stunned by this that she had zero response. Well, outwardly. Inwardly, she was dying. She felt this thrilling tingle in the pit of her belly and man, was she super glad for the scarf hiding her ever-widening grin.

“Wanna share a cab?”

She just nodded, not trusting herself to say actual words in response.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and walked to the curb, looking around the street expectantly; she was about to mock him and his cab-hailing skills when of course,  _of course_ one pulled up to the curb. He turned to her and grinned, pulling one hand out and opening the door. With a shake of her head, she got in, suddenly giddy with anticipation.

The ride to her place was mostly silent; a billion possibilities ranging from a night of hot, mind-blowing sex to awkward stammering at her door roamed through her head, but she decided to just roll with wherever the evening took them. She also decided that she definitely wasn't going to just let this one go.

How often do you come across someone you can be this comfortable with in such a short time? Especially considering the circumstances in which they had met?

So that's why when he walked her up to her door, she blurted what she did. That stupid Mariah Carey song had been playing in the cab (okay, not stupid, she loved it. Didn't everybody secretly love that song?) and it was stuck in her head. As they stood there looking at one another, she started to talk but her voice was muffled by her scarf, so she impatiently whipped it off her face. He seemed amused by that, his devious grin curling a corner of his mouth upward. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, and even though he'd had his hands all over her body and they'd simulated the sex act all week, it was this intimate contact that was barely a brush of skin on skin that made her feel an entire lifetime of possibilities with the guy.

“Well, it's been nice meeting you, Miss Emma Swan.”

“Likewise, Mr. Killian Jones.”

“So...” he began, scratching at the back of his head. Emma was amazed; she'd never seen him look so nervous, and it was that more than anything that made her start to feel bold. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Oh,” she breathed out. “Probably sleeping in and watching  _It's a Wonderful Life_ or something before heading over to Mary Margaret's. I think she's having people over, so...”

“Yeah, I'll probably be doing the same exact thing.” He shuffled his feet a second before taking a step closer, right into her breathing space. “Have you been a good girl this year?”

Damn, but he made those cheesy lines sound hot. The way his voice dropped down a little, his eyes twinkling but his tone somehow sounding serious. She decided to lighten the suddenly intense mood because no matter how bold she was feeling in that moment, she definitely wasn't ready for whatever it was he was projecting.

“Maybe,” was all she said. He grinned in appreciation before moving even closer.

“And what did we ask Santa for this year?”

_...'cause I just want you for my own, more than you will ever know... make my wish come truuuuuuuue...._

“All I want for Christmas is you.” Fuck. Hey, at least she didn't  _sing_ the line.

His smile went full on joy and he threw his head back in genuine delight.

“You've got that stuck in your head, too?”  _Yeah, sure. We'll go with that_ . Emma smiled; she couldn't help it. He had a great laugh, the kind where you join in even when you don't know what's so funny. Her chuckles turned to real laughter and she found herself leaning toward him, whether to steady herself or because a gust of icy wind kicked up and he just looked warm or because it was Killian and she had been fighting the urge to touch him since pretty much the moment she met him, she wasn't sure.

“But the feeling is mutual, love,” he said after his laughter died down, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she eagerly met his lips, closing her eyes and sending a silent thank-you to her porn star friend and Mariah Carey.

**Author's Note:**

> the follow up to the other christmas comedy that i wrote is coming up.


End file.
